


The Mistaken Huntress

by Cookiemonster2000



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (even though they're not in space lol), Alternate Universe - Crack, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Crack, It's basically fluff masquerading as angst lol, Keith is a vampire, Mistaken Identity, Pidge | Katie Holt is a Mess, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Vampire Hunters, Vampires, i mean i assume..havent read many lmaooo, nonono just trust me on this one fr, pidge needs some sleep like damn, this isn't like most vampire fics!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookiemonster2000/pseuds/Cookiemonster2000
Summary: Pidge just wanted a peanut butter sandwich. It's not her fault she knows how to throw down when she senses danger.Keith has found the resident Huntress-rather, she's found him. . . and he's determined to take her out before she becomes the death of him.Literally.A fic where Keith follows Pidge around, halfheartedly plotting her murder, until he starts getting a bit attached.





	1. The Coveted Peanut Butter Sandwich

**Author's Note:**

> this is the result of a crack au brainstorming session with a fellow kidger and irl close friend. this is for you echo ily
> 
> My first VLD fic!! hopefully there will be many more to come. I adore plance and kidge (what gives pidge the right to be so dang shippable??) as well as,,, many others!! This one's roughly planned out, so I hope you enjoy!

Normally, Pidge loved technology.

 

People were difficult and unpredictable. Numbers were  _ obedient _ . Math wasn’t like anything else in the universe--mountains crumbled, time turned men to myths, oceans dry and fill once more, humans grow and change and die, but two plus two always equals four.

 

But today.

 

For some _strange and stupid_ _reason._

 

Math wasn’t obeying her like it usually did. 

 

Maybe it was because she was so tired the numbers and letters were swimming in her blurry vision and several computer monitors leaned and tilted before her drooping eyelids. Maybe it was because she was so hungry she could barely think straight. Maybe it was because her emotional high--her fury and her passion, after finding another hint to her father and brother’s whereabouts--had inexplicably dropped as her body became more and more worn out, leaving her feeling quite dead and without motivation. . .

 

The anger roared up again. Like  _ hell  _ she’d stop because of some weak physical malfunctions! Furiously, she rubbed her eyes and checked the clock.

 

Two forty-three.

 

As if to punctuate Pidge’s incredible discomfort, a loud rumble erupted from her stomach. The beast demanded sustenance.

 

Well, she had been at it for a few days straight with no real breaks to speak of. . . she stretched and flopped onto her back.  _ Dad and Matt wouldn't want me to be killing myself over them, _ she admitted to herself, trying to calm down a bit.  _ What I need is a good old-fashioned peanut butter sandwich. Then I’ll head to bed, and bright and early tomorrow, I’ll get back to it. _

* * *

God hated her. That was the only explanation.

 

Some absolute idiot--her own past self being the most likely culprit--had put back the peanut butter jar after emptying it and hadn’t bothered to replace it. Pidge gritted her teeth and slam-dunked the plastic container into the trash bin. The violent motion helped, barely.

 

Bed?

 

The lonely whale in her stomach called to its fellows once more. Pidge nearly doubled over in agony.

 

Food it was.

 

There was hardly anything else in the fridge--when was the last time she’d been shopping? A leftover carton of vegetable fried rice looked somewhat promising, until Pidge had gotten a whiff of it. Into the trash it went.

 

_ Dad would always make us peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. . . _

 

Scowling, Pidge snatched her long coat from the ground and jammed her ratty sneakers on her feet. The convenience store--a five-minute walk away--would be open at this time. She’d pick up some bread, some peanut butter, maybe a chocolate bar and a hot tea, and be back home in twenty minutes.

 

Easy.

 

She pulled the door open and paused. It was a bit unsafe, heading out into the night, especially a stormy morning like this. Matt and Dad. . .

 

Pidge checked her pocket for the pepper spray Matt had gifted her, years back.

 

_ “Thanks! But I can buy this stuff, you know.” _

 

_ “Oh, no you can’t. Not this kind!” _

 

_ “What’s so different about it?” _

 

_ “I’m glad you asked! See, I made this stuff myself. Stuffed it full of ingredients that’ll protect you from anything.” _

 

_ “Anything?” _

 

_ “Anything! Rampaging bull, alien cyborg--even vampires and werewolves. . .” _

 

_ “Pffff, you dork!” _

 

_ “Call me all the names you want, Pidge, but one day you’ll be thanking me.” _

 

_ “Suuure.” _

 

Pidge blinked back the tears and tossed the bottle between her hands. It was still unused, but she was always careful to bring it along with her.

 

At least, for a few specific months she had been.

 

Pocketing it, Pidge slammed the door shut behind her and headed into the stormy night.

  
  
  


The city outside was as loud as ever. Cars whizzed by in the foggy, cold streets, splashing her with icy puddles. Distant lights, shouts, music completed the dreary scene. She wrapped her coat tighter around her as she kept to the right of the sidewalk, walking as fast as she could. Even tired Pidge knew the dangers of the city at three in the morning, and she wasn’t planning on getting mugged or attacked tonight. Not when she was so  _ close _ . 

 

The bell tinkled and Pidge breathed deeply the familiar scent. The dreadlocked, low-lidded cashier gave her the one-over, blinked, and decided not to comment.

 

As she studied the shelves, the doorbell tinkled again, and a cold wind whipped in before the sliding doors closed again with a snap. Casually, she shifted her body to glance into the rounded mirror in the corner.

 

It was a guy, somewhat short but still significantly taller than her, with a mop of dark, wet hair. His gray jacket was soaked through, and he dripped on the linoleum floor. Everything about his body language screamed  _ imbalanced _ .

 

She turned back to the shelf, feigning calmness, but she could feel his eyes boring into her.

 

There wasn’t much of a selection, so Pidge grabbed the peanut butter, a few boxes of mac’n’cheese, and a loaf of bread. As she moved around the counter in the back to fix her hot tea, she allowed her eyes to move once more towards him.

 

Only to catch him staring at her, dark eyes narrowed, over the chip rack.

 

Pidge ducked down, heart rate racing a mile a minute. Did she have her pepper spray on her? Was this just another harmless creepy looking guy in the wrong place at the wrong time? Was her weary mind playing tricks on her? What had she been  _ thinking _ , leaving the house for food before checking if she had some crackers to tide her over?? 

 

_ No, I  _ needed  _ to have a little taste of home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

 

Pidge moved around the isle where the creepy man stood carefully, placing the food on the counter in front of the cashier. He slowly brought his arm up to scan the items, movements sluggish. Pensively, she glanced up at his slow smile.

 

_ Great, so he’s stoned.  _

 

As fast as she could, she paid for her purchase and headed out the door, steaming drink in one hand, plastic baggie in the other. The rain had picked up again, and thunder crackled in the distance, but she still heard the door slide open behind her.

 

Loud and clear.

 

For a split second, the world teetered. Pidge freed her hand by sliding the plastic bag up onto her arm and reached into her jacket pocket, almost in slow motion. As she turned, her peripheral vision caught the man roughly two feet behind her, one arm reaching towards her and mouth opening to speak.

 

_ Not today. _

 

“Hey, are you--”

 

In one quick motion, she grabbed hold of the pepper spray, yanked it out, aimed, and fired directly into the man’s face, bringing one leg up in a swift kick to his groin. He cried out, falling to his knees, obviously not having expected her to counterattack before giving him the chance to jump her. Pidge shoved his shoulders hard, and he fell backwards into the rainy street, landing flat on his back.

 

She didn’t stick around to relish in her victory. As soon as the man was down, Pidge rounded on her heels and sprinted away, back to her apartment. The adrenaline pumping through her veins kept her legs moving despite her exhaustion.

 

Falling against her door, she fumbled for her key. Slamming it shut behind her, she slid slowly down onto her behind, head dropping onto her knees as she caught her labored breath.

 

For no reason in particular, the tears were starting again. Pidge wrapped her arms around her head as her chest began shaking. A sob burst from her lips, then another.

 

A tiny part of her mind recognized that she was just hungry, she was just tired, she would feel much better after a good cry, meal, and night’s sleep.

 

The overwhelming majority of it screamed for her missing family.

 

After what seemed like several hours--but was probably closer to a few minutes--Pidge got ahold of herself. She stood (knees shaking only a bit), weakly making her way over to the kitchenette where she made her coveted sandwich.

 

A few more tears dripped down as she devoured it, but her face was dry by the time she had collapsed into bed, closing her honey-brown eyes to sleep for the first time in a good while.

 

The dim light above her lit enough to paint the picture for anyone who happened to be watching that this wasn’t a woman who would give up on anything soon.

  
  


And that was a quite unfortunate thing for the one who  _ did  _ happen to be watching to find out.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta read so excuse the sloppy writing and poor grammar at points!!! _oof sorry!_


	2. Mind Your Own Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith just wanted some coffee. An hour or two later, he's tailing a young--and somewhat pretty--girl.
> 
> No, not like _that,_ gross! He was only trying to kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! IT's a(nother) short one but I figured y'all deserved sOMETHING while my addled brain tries to formulate all the stuff that's gonna go down. Plot will progress faster in the next chapter, I swear. For now, have some awkward Keith, lol.
> 
> also, thank you so much for all the positive feedback???? y'all are STARVING for content aren't you?? (trust me i feel your pain) <3333 thanks for reading!!

Keith wasn’t normally the type to worry about strangers, but the girl looked like she could barely stand. 

 

He had been wandering the city, trying to sniff out something safe to eat, when the smell of coffee assaulted his hyper-sharp senses. So, sighing and resigning himself to another hungry night, he headed in to pick himself up one of the few things he could still actually consume.

 

And that’s where she caught his eye.

  
  


The girl in the corner, staring blearily at the grocery items, half asleep.

 

Her short, choppy brown hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail. Keith looked her up and down--was she wearing pajamas underneath that coat??--and immediately was filled with a concern that he thought he’d alienated himself from by now. The girl brought up a hand, covering her gaping yawn, and picked up a jar of peanut butter.

 

She was a walking disaster.

 

Keith looked down, pretending to study the chips, while keeping his beady eyes trained on her. She turned around to fix herself a drink in the back--her eyelids were low behind her goofy, round glasses and holy  _ shit _ , those bags under her eyes rivaled even the results of his own insomnia. 

 

(Even despite the exhaustion present in her body language and her expression, her face wasn’t half bad-looking. Her cheeks were flushed, and her neck was. . .)

 

Keith closed his eyes and shook his head.  _ No. Nope. Bad Keith. _

 

Humans were  _ not  _ meals.

 

He growled, pinching his own arm. Jeez, he  _ really  _ needed to stop going out when he was hungry--it messed with his head. Seemed to take any remaining bits of humanity left in him and wear them away, little by little.

 

Movement caught his eye again, and despite himself, he looked up again. The girl was making her way to the front of the store to pay--maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to carefully avoid stepping within a five-foot radius of him. 

 

. . . Perhaps hadn’t been as subtle as he thought. 

 

As if sensing the turmoil radiating from his person, she glanced tersely at him, their eyes meeting for a split-second.

 

_ Mistake _ .

 

When his eyes met hers--her frightened eyes that reminded him of a cornered rabbit--instantly a violent, powerful instinct surged up in his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Keith stumbled backwards, back hitting the wall, as he fought to regain his balance while the world turned into a wind tunnel around him. Everything in him--no, everything inhuman in him--was  _ roaring  _ for him to launch himself at her. Right. Now. His shaking hands clenched so hard, his nails bit into his palms and would have drawn blood, had he had any to lose.

 

The girl was paying for her items, shoulders hunched over as she made herself even smaller. Shoving her wallet back into her jacket pocket, she took hold of her drink and the bag and scurried away. And though Keith was suddenly starving, he forced himself to stand in place, frozen.

 

The doors slid open to accommodate her flight. A gust of freezing wind and a bit of rain blew in. The cashier blinked slowly, placing a bite of the strange-looking pie sitting on the counter beside him into his dopey smiling mouth. Soft music played over the speakers. The doors slid shut with a click.

 

A war raged in Keith’s mind. That girl was clearly tired. Did she even have a way to get home? Was she going to be okay? There were plenty of creeps on the streets at this time of night. Maybe he should go help her.

 

The small voice in the back of his mind whispered,  _ but you know you’re not yourself when you’re hungry. _

 

He was torn for another moment. What if something happened and he could have stopped it? 

 

_ Shiro  _ wouldn’t want him to avoid doing a good deed just because he had trouble controlling himself. If he was in Keith’s place, _Shiro_ would do the hard thing, and prove he was more than his disease.

 

The thought of Shiro hurt just enough to prompt him into action.

 

Keith followed the girl out of the store.

  
  


In his defense, he hadn’t spoken to another person in quite a while.

  
  


His worry shot up even more when she stopped short as he stepped out the door. She looked frozen, drenched, shaking ever-so-slightly in the cold rain. A strange wave of compassion washed over him as he looked her up and down, swallowed and came to a decision.

 

“Hey, are you--” Keith began, reaching for the girl’s shoulder.

  
  


And, without warning and completely unprovoked, she attacked.

 

A quick spray went right into his eyes--Keith gasped and stumbled backwards, shocked at the sudden attack but bringing his arms up to defend himself.

 

Too slow--a blow hit him in the chest, knocking the wind clear out of him, and he tripped over his own feet, the momentum slamming his back against the ground. In an instant, he was flat on the wet pavement, soaked to the bone with ice water. 

 

Aching.

 

The splashing of the girl’s retreating footsteps grew distant as she made good her escape. Keith’s head dropped down on the ground as he let out a low groan.

 

Well,  _ this  _ made things a bit more complicated.

 

* * *

 

Back in his apartment, Keith glared at his reflection with his practiced look that could send armies running for cover. (At least, he liked to think so.)

 

Shiro had taught him about people like this. . . people who hunted his kind. To be quite honest, he didn’t really blame him. He could hardly remember his years as a human before he’d been forcibly turned--infected.

 

Keith stared at the bags under his eyes and dragged his fingers down the skin of his face, giving his reflection a grotesque appearance. He blinked and willed it away--more often than not, he allowed the reflection to blend in better in public, but in private, he couldn’t stand catching glimpses of his own body and face, so away it went. 

 

So, what was the plan?

  
  


Keith had never been one to plan--his habit was attacking first and asking questions later. But this problem needed to be addressed carefully--if there was a Huntress around, he needed to do more than just watch his step. Hunters were _dangerous_ , people who had been chosen, trained for the role since they were young. As a result, they possessed a keen sense for the uncanny, as well as an array of powerful weapons at their disposal.

 

That was the Huntress’s mistake. Revealing herself with an item only a Hunter would have. . . Her pepper spray had been infused with holy water, no doubt. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been nearly as incapacitated as he was. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots from there.

 

So, why hadn’t she finished him off? Clearly, she knew what he was--perhaps she knew that in her weakened, exhausted state, she couldn’t beat him in a lasting fight.

 

So, the best course of action would be to take advantage of this, and take her out before she could do him the same favor.

 

. . . with a weapon. He meant with a weapon.

 

Nevertheless, it was with a somewhat heavy heart that Keith raised his head to the sky and inhaled deeply. If he focused, he’d be able to sniff her out--her scent had been striking, and he didn’t just mean her natural blood scent.

 

She hadn't been all that bad-looking, and the intensity of her eyes for that split-second lingered in the back of his mind.

 

 

 

The sidewalk was still wet from the downpour, but at this point the storm had calmed to a slight drizzle. The sun would be rising in less than an hour, so Keith wanted to make this trip quick.

 

This was where she’d run, all right. The scent of panic was still in the air--clearly, the Huntress was caught off-guard by his presence, and wasn’t as ready for a drawn-out fight as she had seemed. Personally, he didn’t see the appeal, but he knew it was a natural instinct for some to run when in danger, so as to live to fight another day.

 

Keith halted his walk in front of an old apartment building and breathed deeply.

 

This was the place.

 

But he couldn’t just invite himself in--quite literally. Vampires couldn’t enter homes without express permission from someone who  _ was  _ at home there, unfortunately. All he could do at the moment was stalk around, maybe wait for her to leave the house again.

 

Keith gritted his teeth. Attacking a girl on the street without warning. . . this was somebody he swore he’d never become.

 

He ignored the thought that  _ Shiro wouldn’t do something like this, whether his life was endangered or not _ and attempted to peer in the window beside the door. A curtain blocked his line of sight, but he thought he saw movement.

 

So she was still awake, too.

 

Keith climbed up onto the railing and leapt up onto the roof, scrambling over to the other side of the building. He dropped down onto the cramped balcony and looked in  _ that  _ window.

 

She was in the middle of tossing a plate into the sink and stretching, a ferocious yawn overtaking her. Her eyes darted over to the window a split second after he ducked down.

 

When he cautiously peeked up again, the girl was facing to the right, allowing him a nice look at her profile. The overhead light in her kitchen painted her face an unnatural yellow, but Keith found himself focusing on her determined expression. Her hand wandered to her side, where the pepper spray was stuck awkwardly in her pocket. It came to rest against the tube, and the girl's tired eyes became so sharp he felt he could cut himself upon her just from looking.

 

He failed to suppress a shiver.

 

 

 

Maybe he should stay away for a few days, to ensure he's fully prepared. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing and want to help me out, please consider [buying me a coffee with ko-fi!](https://ko-fi.com/cookiecoffee) It's only 3 bucks a donation and it goes a long way motivation wise.


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